A Face without Freckles, A Sky without Stars
by zozobee
Summary: Starting with a  somewhat less than merry Christmas and continuing on through the adventures of Rose and Ten. A series of one-shots.
1. Merry Christmas Doctor

"Merry Christmas Doctor". The blonde companion sat in a corner of the TARDIS, softly crying to herself. There was something wrong with the man she traveled with. He seemed scared of something, he was never scared. He was never terrified. He was never sad. He never cried. He wasn't that type of man but, on this particular Christmas, he seemed to fall apart.

Of course, it seemed rather appropriate for Rose to remember that the man she traveled with wasn't a man, he was the lonely god, and he damn well deserved some time to cry if he needed it. But there was a part of her, one of the deeper and darker parts of her that refused to see any sort of reason, that insisted upon questioning him in his agony, his apparent suffering. It nearly killed her to see it.

She stretched out her legs, tilting her head and looking at her feet. They looked exactly the same as they had since she was fifteen. Rose has been early in her growing and had looked just about the same since secondary school. But she had changed so much in the past two years, traveling with that man in the funny blue box. He was crazy and ecstatic and lovely. She knew some of it had rubbed off on her. She felt so incredibly new and brilliant and different, so different from that old Rose Tyler. She loved every minute of it.

Part of her knew that she could never enjoy herself at home again. They had just come from visiting Jackie, celebrating Christmas in the most familial of ways. Rose had gone through all the motions of happiness, bringing presents and helping with dinner and smiling and laughing, pretending she wasn't wishing she could be anywhere else. She talked to the neighbors and watched telly and talked about her adventures as if they were some big, exhausting bother and she was just glad to finally be home. She knew that she could be anywhere else. One word and the Doctor would whisk her away to some unknown planet, with waterfalls of diamonds or creatures with four eyes and seven legs. Somewhere with silver skies and twelve moons and rivers made of chocolate with banks of buttercups. She could see Renaissance Florence, meet Leonardo Da Vinci. She had seen the end of Earth. She could ask to see the end of time. She could ask for anything, for everything. And the Doctor was magical that way. He could grant her every desire.

She loved that man, the man in the funny blue suit with the funny blue box. That hair. God, that hair. The glasses that made him so wonderful and ridiculous that she could hardly keep her laughter inside of her. The eyes, the chocolate brown eyes full of sweetness and sorrow and wisdom and wonder. And the face, the delicate freckles trembling on a nose and spreading through his face. A face without freckles was a sky without stars, a lonely sky. Then again, he was the lonely god. It would have been appropriate for him to lack freckles. But she thanked God everyday that he was exactly as he was.

It seemed weird, when she looked back upon it, that she had been so terrified at this new man, the man who had taken the place of her beloved Doctor. Of course, hindsight was twenty twenty and she knew now that the man was perfect in every way, no matter what face he took. It was why she couldn't figure out why he was crying.

"We celebrated Christmas there too, you know." Rose looked up, seeing the Doctor cross his thin legs and sit down beside her, looking at the floor of his beloved TARDIS.

"Where?"

"Gallifrey. It's odd but, we had Christmas there too. Of course, we didn't call if Christmas but it was pretty much the same thing. I remember it. Quite well in fact."

"Tell me about it." The doctor smiled.

"Gallifrey? There were the fields; those are what I remember best. Red fields, tall, waving, burgundy, beautiful. I could sit in those fields for hours. You could see everything. The suns, they would rise and everything would glow. Those trees, those silver-leaved trees. They would glint and burn in the light, a forest on fire. And you would look and see the mountains. We lived on one, you know. You could see the snow. The purest white you could believe. And you would look up, and you could see infinity. You could see everything and anything you dared dream in those never ending skies. It was unimaginable, and there's nothing quite like it. Believe me, I've looked. I still miss it." A tear dropped from his eye.

"Is that why you cry?"

"I lost so much, Rose. With Gallifrey gone, I have nothing left from that life. Nothing except this old girl." He tapped the floor; the TARDIS gave a low grumble, clearly less than enthused about the comparison. "I had children you know. A proper dad I was. And it's gone, and I can live with that. I caused that, and I know it. And I would do it again, even knowing how I would spend the oncoming years. I don't cry for Gallifrey, and I don't cry for myself." He looked up. "Rose, I cry for you.

"I saw you today, at your mother's. You're growing to be quite an actress you know. Believe me, I could tell. Don't worry, she couldn't." He chuckled sadly. "It breaks my heart. You were so happy before you had the misfortune to meet me. Blind, but happy. I opened your eyes, to everything. It's not just that you see things far and vast and wonderful. You can't be satisfied with how things were. It happens every time, it kills me."

"Doctor, I'm sorry. But you wouldn't go back, you would do it again. And so would I."

"That's the problem isn't it? Stupid humans, stupid time lords. We just can't say no, can we?"

"Absolutely not."

"Merry Christmas Rose."

"Merry Christmas Doctor."

**Author's Note: Here we are, my first foray into Doctor Who fanfic. Let me know what you thought, perhaps I'll do something like it again. Much love, and best wishes. **


	2. Barcelona

She crept into the vast expanse, ever shocked at the wonder that was contained inside those tiny blue doors. Making her way through the silent room, she was cautious of every step. The Doctor had told her not to go out, not to get into trouble. But she couldn't resist. She was in bloody Barcelona. She was damn well going to have a good time. Well, that wasn't exactly what she would have called it now. Shaking slightly, she made her way to her room.

The TARDIS never ceased to amaze, never ceased to create that vast sense of wonder and enjoyment. She pitied those who couldn't find something like it, and she felt guilty. She had a pleasure that no one else had the opportunity of realizing. People didn't even know that the Doctor existed. Hell, a year ago, Rose wouldn't have believed anything so ludicrous in her life. A code written through the universe, thousands upon thousands of languages never heard by a human ear. Millions of stars and galaxies, and that was just in this universe. And that beautiful man, the funny little man in the funny blue suit with the funny blue box. Every time he smiled, every time he laughed, every time he corrected her mistaken quantum physics with a giggle in his throat and a sparkle in his eye. Why was she so lucky, why was she so goddamn lucky?

She trembled again, shutting the door behind her. Simple, clean, her room on the TARDIS was brilliant in whites and blues, stars painted on the ceiling. One of the quirks of the TARDIS, the Doctor had explained. She, for some reason the box was always a she, liked to show those inside glimpses of the vast outdoors. The stars swirled at night, twisting and turning with glimpses of light giving way to the greater unknown. It had been unnerving the first night but, as she had gotten used to most everything magical about the Doctor, she had gotten used to sleeping under starlight.

She walked into the bathroom, shedding her clothes quickly and locking herself into the steamed room. That funny blue box had learned that she liked to shower, and she made a point of heating up both the room and the water for Rose. Rose must have missed her normal time; the TARDIS gave a quick chirpy greeting as the blonde stepped into the steamed glass.

Rose turned up the water as hot as it would go, scalding herself lightly. Her skin reddened, deepening the purples that spotted her torso and upper legs. Maybe, just maybe, the memories of that night would go away.

After she could no longer stand the torrent of blistering water pouring down her back, Rose climbed out of the shower. Throwing on an old one of the Doctor's sweatshirts- according to the writing, he had graduated Class of 3014 at New Harvard-, she climbed into her bed and, shivering, pulled the covers over her head. All she wanted to do was forget. She had the ability to control time or, rather, to ask someone for help, someone who could grant her every wish. Why couldn't she just forget?

"Rose?" That funny man walked into her room, clad in what Rose came to know as "strictly TARDIS wear." In weathered blue jeans, he claimed they were original Levi's, and a navy t-shirt, he sat on the edge of her bed, looking into his own hands. She didn't respond.

"Rose, darling, what's wrong?" She was quiet. "I know you left tonight, you think you can pull something over on a time lord?" He laughed quietly, there was no response. "I'm not mad, nothing of the sort. It's just," he turned to her," Rose. Please talk to me. There's something wrong, I can tell."

"I can't tell you."

"Rose, you can tell me anything. Anything at all. I won't be mad, I promise."

"No, I can't tell you."

"Can I look?" He scooted up to the head of the bed, placing his hands on her head.

"NO!" She shrieked, tumbling backwards slightly. "Don't touch me. Don't you dare touch me."

"Rose." His voice took on a slightly gruff tone, doing nothing to mask the tears slowly dripping from his eyes. "Rose, please. Tell me." She began to cry too and, quivering, sat down next to the Doctor and closed her eyes. He did the same, and put his hands to her forehead.

They were back in a bar in Barcelona. Rose sat by herself, nursing what appeared to be a whisky of sorts, though one could never be quite sure. A man came and sat beside her. He grinned, she smiled. They fell into conversation, a beautiful man and a beautiful woman.

"You know," said Rose, "I don't usually go with strange men like this, but…"

"What?" The man made a point of being all ears.

"I'm trying to forget someone. He barely sees me, day in and day out. I think I love him but, well," she grinned sadly into her drink, "he doesn't love me." The man leaned over, whispering into her ear.

"Let's make him jealous, shall we?"

Their arms snaked together and, walking quickly out of the bar, their lips pressed together. They made their way to the man's apartment, giggling and laughing in drunken revelry. Once inside, Rose's dress was tossed aside and the man's clothes were shed. A condom was produced, and Rose snapped from her intoxicated state.

"No. No. I don't want to." The man slapped her.

"You do, you most definitely do."

"No, I don't love you! I love, I love…" her words were silenced as the man grasped her firmly, pudgy fingers digging into her flesh, scratching her. She felt the bruises form, felt him enter her, felt him violate her. She cried silently, stoically, but she didn't make noise. Cast to the floor after the act was done, she was left there, bruised, hair matted and eyes wet. She wept, and the man left in disgust. She replaced her clothes and, slowly and gingerly, made her way back to the funny blue box.

Rose felt herself slip back into the present, whatever the present was. She say the Doctor stand up, rage in his eyes, malice dripping from his figure. He grabbed his coat and left, throwing on trainers and running out the door. She wrapped herself in blankets, buried herself at the bottom of her bed. She was just happy to be warm. For it to be quiet, clean, familiar.

She heard the front door slam, heard the engines kick in, the familiar whirring of that funny blue box, mild curses emanating from the vast control room. She heard a puttering, a slight muttering, and footsteps. Her door opened quietly, and the funny man of the funny blue box perched on the side of her bed. She curled in towards him, cowering against his leg. He lay down, wrapping his arms around her. Her head rested on his chest, listening to the hearts beating quickly. The beats slowed as the stars twirled above them, the vastness of the universe ever so apparent. For a bit, if only for a night, they tried to forget the past. Wrapped in each other's arms, they drifted slowly off to sleep.


	3. In Venezia

"Doctor, that man looks a lot like you."

_Three Hours Earlier_

"Ah, Venice. You've got to love Venice," the Doctor said, stepping out of the TARDIS. "What do you want to do? Ponte de Rialto? Gondola ride? Bungee jumping? No," he said, scratching his chin, "they haven't invented that quite yet."

"What time is it exactly?"

"1749, or thereabouts. Late renaissance. Oh, it's beautiful. Rose, you need to come see this."

"I'm not exactly dressed for it, am I."

"We'll find you a tailor. You have to look at this. I've done an excellent job parking." Rose stepped outside onto the cobblestones, almost tripping into the Grand Canal. The Doctor caught her.

"Careful. Now, what do you want to do?"

"Get some other clothes. You could stand to as well."

"I like the coat."

"Doctor, we're in Italy. No brown." He looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

"You win this time, barely." She smiled.

_Later_

"You look lovely," he said.

"You look ridiculous," she said, smiling and jumping off the pedestal the tailor had placed her on. After, tutting at her for the better part of ten minutes, the woman sewed her into a cobalt dress with white ribboning. The Doctor shuffled slightly, clearly uncomfortable in the white blousy shirt, jewel green vest, black breeches, and tall boots. "Why do you look so put out?" she asked.

"The clothes."

"What?"

"The clothes, they're too tight."

"They fit you."

"They're Italian." The tailor looked at him. "Venetian, not unified yet," he said to Rose.

"Doctor, you look nice."

"I feel ridiculous," he said. She took his arm.

"You look lovely," she said. "Now, where shall we go?"

_Later_

The Doctor flashed his psychic paper to at the doorman, who let them in. He got in a very Italian fuss, so excited to be welcoming royalty from Scotland. Rose smiled. They walked into the palazzo.

"How did you find this place," Rose asked.

"Well, you said you wanted to go somewhere new. We don't usually do parties. At least, not very well." He grabbed a glass of champagne for her. She took a sip.

"Doctor, that man looks an awful lot like you." Rose said. He put his glasses on.

"No, I don't think so."

"You could be twins."

"I really don't think so." He stared at the man for a second. He had the same moppy, gravity-defying hair, he would admit that. And he couldn't deny that they were around the same height. But that wasn't a big deal. Most people were around his height; the Doctor was average that way. And that man may have had the same eyebrows, twitching and dancing on his face. But there was absolutely nothing else. Their eyes weren't even close to the same color.

"I'm going to go talk to him."

"Rose, why?" he tried, but she was already gone.

"Ciao, ciao darling." The man kissed her hand. "My name is Giacomo, and may I just say how lovely you look this evening." Rose giggled.

"She's taken," the Doctor said. Giacomo looked up.

"I'm sorry, Signior, have we met?"

"Perhaps in utero," Rose said, before taking a gulp of her champagne.

"My name is Giacomo, Giacomo Casanova." Rose spit out her wine.

"Casanova? I've heard all about you." The Doctor stuck out his hand. "I'm the Doctor. It's a pleasure, really and truly." Rose wiped her mouth off and smiled. Giacomo looked confused.

"Are you sure we haven't met?"

"Positive. Oh, but it's a pleasure. Now, Rose, we best be off. People to see in and things to do."

"Doctor, I think we should stay and chat."

"I agree with the lady, Signior," Giacomo said before winking at Rose, "we should talk. I'm always interested in talking to beautiful women."

"So I've heard," mumbled the Doctor.

_Later_

"So, that's the story of how I eventually defeated the Dale—the French."

"Singlehandedly, Dottore? I'm quite impressed." After the party, Rose had offered that Giacomo come back for a drink. He had kissed her hand and obliged. They walked in the blue doors. The TARDIS chirped slightly, welcoming them back.

"You have a very fine palazzo, Dottore. It's, umm, bigger on the inside."

"He said it," said the Doctor to Rose, "I love it when they say that." Rose, quite drunk at this point, merely nodded her head in agreement. She stood and walked to get some more wine, only stumbling slightly on the stairs to the kitchen. Giacomo sat down, then stood up again.

"I'm usually much better than this," he said.

"I don't quite—" Before the Doctor could finish, Giacomo pressed his lips to his, pressed his body to his, lingered slightly. His hand reached around and grabbed the Doctor lightly before retreating and grabbing his coat.

"Let me know if you're ever in town, Dottore," he said. "I'd be delighted to see you again." The door shut behind him. The Doctor kept staring. He heard footsteps behind him.

"What happened to you?" she asked. The Doctor turned around.

"I just snogged Casanova. "


End file.
